


Two Somebodys

by anticyclone



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Adam has residual Antichrist powers, Date Night, M/M, Rain, Shipoween Extra Treat, Warlock has residual Armageddon memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-17 07:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21050831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anticyclone/pseuds/anticyclone
Summary: "Can I…?" Adam waits, and when Warlock doesn't answer, he inches forward and slides his free hand around Warlock's back. He pulls Warlock up against his chest. His raincoat shudders in the wind and hits Warlock's sides. "The Antichrist thing, it's just. Reality, it built up to this point, and it expected that, um.""You'd grind the world beneath your heel."Adam touches his forehead to Warlock's. "But that was never me.""Same," Warlock blurts.





	Two Somebodys

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scorpiod](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiod/gifts).

"I was thinking," Adam says, tugging Warlock up against his side.

Warlock lets him, but raises his eyebrows. "Oh, are you okay?"

Adam snorts. "Why am I dating you, again?"

"Because I'm cute. And you like my accent." Which is mostly solid American, thanks to his parents and moving back to the US when he was eleven. But sometimes certain words come out with a Scottish (crush, subjugate, prune and weed) or West Country (brother, sister, sibling) twist. Nanny Ashtoreth's words are easier to avoid than Brother Francis's.

Adam briefly presses his lips to the side of Warlock's face, near his ear. "Fine," he says, grinning. He touches his tongue to his bottom lip and looks at Warlock's mouth and says, "I was thinking about breakfast."

Warlock shoots a comically wide-eyed look at the park. It's fall, and it's early evening, and it's been threatening to rain properly for two days. The point is that it's dark. They also only finished dinner about half an hour ago.

"Did you want to meet up in the morning?" Warlock asks.

The air is misty, shading into a steady drizzle. While the rain had been faint he'd been avoiding using the umbrella in his hand, but while Adam is in a ridiculous neon yellow raincoat, Warlock is in a thin jacket that's more fashionable than functional. He picks his hand up and presses the button to open the umbrella above their heads.

They're trying to get back to Warlock's before the storm starts in earnest.

So far, so good, although St. James Park is not actually on the way home. It had just … been there, and Adam had nudged him onto the sidewalk, and Warlock had followed. So far they've walked half the length of the park.

"Er. No. I was thinking," Adam says, a third time. His eyes on Warlock's mouth. "I could make you breakfast?"

Which is when the sky opens up. The drizzle shades into gentle rain just long enough for people to grab for umbrellas and pull hoods up on coats. Instead of pulling his own hood up, Adam lets go of Warlock's hand to slid his arm through Warlock's. To get further under the umbrella. It isn't wide enough to cover the both of them but it's better than nothing.

"They fixed your stove?"

A sudden wind shoves a gray column of rain down the path, between the trees. People ahead of them shriek when it hits. Warlock has enough time to think _I should've worn different shoes_ and then it's on them too.

The wind rips the umbrella out of his hand. Warlock slips out of Adam's grip - there's a startled "Hey!" as he does - to run onto the grass after it.

The rain makes the trees shake. Warlock ducks his head to keep the water out of his eyes. "Fuck," he mutters, side-stepping a slick of mud in the middle of the grass. The wind flings the umbrella against a tree. Warlock finally manages to get both of his hands around it.

"Warlock," Adam says.

"Got it."

Warlock turns around and freezes.

Adam still hasn't pulled his jacket hood up. Behind him, people are wiping rain off their faces with their sleeves, but his hood is down. When he walks across the grass he doesn't side-step the mud. The wind moves his hair, but the rain doesn't hit him.

"You would've run straight into the lake after that thing," Adam says. "Then how dry would you have been?"

"I… am dry."

"What?" Adam frowns, looking Warlock over.

Warlock takes a step back. Lets the umbrella hang at his side. It bumps against his leg because he's taking another step backward, even though he didn't mean to. It doesn't matter that he steps in mud because it doesn't stick to his shoes. It doesn't matter that he wore a thin jacket with no hood because his hair isn't wet.

"No you're not, it's…" Adam's voice trails off.

"You're dry, Adam."

Blue eyes rest on Warlock's face. Adam hesitates. Now that Warlock is looking he can see it. It's like the rain curves away just before it hits either of them. The wind is still hitting them. It moves Adam's curls and tangles Warlock's long, loose hair.

He takes another step back and Adam steps forward, holding one hand out in front of himself. "Warlock, wait."

Shaking his head, Warlock says, "I should go," turns, and walks as fast as he can in the opposite direction.

Except, he doesn't remember until ten steps later, the opposite direction means the lake. He turns and tries to walk alongside the water. He isn't even sure which direction he's heading but it doesn't matter. Once he's out of the park and on the street he can get anywhere.

Adam grabs his wrist just as he passes under an oak. The branches are shaking in the wind. "Warlock, wait."

"Let go of me."

"Please-"

Dropping the umbrella, which is useless, anyway, Warlock turns around. His hair whips against the side of his face. He should've put it up, but he'd been trying to look nice. He dressed up. He wore dark jeans, and boots, and a snug button-up shirt under this black jacket that's too thin for the weather. He'd seen the way Adam had stared at his chest when he'd shrugged the jacket off at the restaurant and in the privacy of his own head, he'd smirked.

Adam is in a loose red sweater and the ridiculous neon yellow raincoat that he doesn't even _need._

"This isn't cute, let me go," Warlock says. He's surprised that it actually comes out angry.

"I can explain," Adam insists. He does drop Warlock's wrist, but he also steps in front of Warlock when Warlock tries to move away. "Please let me explain."

"What, that-" Warlock folds his arms across his chest, furious and cold. Adam reaches up like he's going to put his hands on Warlock's shoulders, pull him close against the wind, and Warlock takes a step back. 

His heel catches on one of the oak's exposed roots. He starts to throw his hands up, but he'd locked his arms together. Adam darts forward and grabs his arms, pulls him up. Not against the wind but just against momentum. Instead of cracking his head open on the ground Warlock finds the oak at his back, Adam's hands on his arms.

A few yards away the rain is slamming into the lake. It's loud. The tree shaking in the wind above their heads is loud. Warlock's heart racing in his ears is loud.

There's pretty much no one left in the park, besides them. Everyone else has fled the rain because everyone else needs to. Except them, under a tree and sheltered by something else Warlock is too scattered to try to name.

"Warlock," Adam says. Pleads.

"Let me go."

Adam does, but he doesn't step back. Warlock folds his arms again, tucks his hands underneath his arms, hunches over slightly. Adam's coat is open and he leans forward like he intends to wrap Warlock up in it until Warlock glares at him. Because Adam is taller, he has to tilt his chin up. His hair falls over his eyes and he shakes his head, trying to get it to lay flat against the side of his face instead.

"I didn't mean to," Adam says, defeated. He lets his arms hang at his sides.

"Oh, yeah, I accidentally warp weather around myself all the time," Warlock snaps. And, slightly frantic, "Why do you even own a raincoat?"

Adam winces. "I never mean to. It doesn't work like that. I'm not… It's not on purpose, I don't try to change things."

"You know how I-" Warlock bites that back, looks down, swallows it.

"It's not like that. It's not a spell, or a ritual or…" Adam makes a frustrated noise. "I know you have a thing about magic, this isn't it."

"I do not have a thing about magic. I have a healthy respect for it and that includes keeping it the fuck away from me." Warlock is sure his face is red. There are suddenly so many nights he wishes hadn't happened. Admissions he shouldn't have made. Things he should've known better than to talk about. "And, sorry, but it is pissing rain right now and both of us are completely dry."

"Look, it's…" Adam digs a hand into his curls and swallows. "It's complicated."

Warlock straightens out the fingers of one hand. He waves at the bubble of storm he's stranded in with Adam. "Try me. Or let me leave."

"When we were eleven," Adam starts, hesitant, not noticing the way Warlock's stomach drops. "When we were eleven, reality expected there to be … an Antichrist. And I'm human, I mean, I wasn't - that. But. Sometimes it still does, I mean, expect it, and weird stuff happens. Like not getting wet during a rainstorm."

Warlock is so cold that he feels numb. Adam hesitates. When Warlock doesn't speak, Adam takes his hand. Warlock can't feel it. He stares where their fingers are tangled together and can't figure out how to move to pull himself out of Adam's tentative hold.

"It's always small things. Like the rain. I can't do big things, I can't change the world."

"When we were eleven," Warlock repeats, dully.

"You told me you were here, in England then. You remember, um." Adam's face screws up. He swipes his thumb across Warlock's knuckles. "Atlantis. The Amazon."

"The M25."

"I don't think that was me, actually. I've asked Cr-" Adam stops, clears his throat. "I've asked around but I think that's just what the M25 is like."

Warlock almost wants to laugh. "I wasn't in England," is what he says instead, even though he's sure it's a bad idea.

Adam blinks.

"All our records say we were in England. My parents think we were in England. Even I think…" Warlock looks out at the lake and tries to ignore Adam squeezing his hand. He's still freezing, but he can feel that much now. "But I _know_ we weren't. I know we were somewhere else, and there was this man."

"Warlock?"

Warlock can't bring himself to say any more of it. There is more that he remembers and that he's never told anyone and is not going to tell anyone today, either, apparently. He forces a breath out and straightens his shoulders. Rushed, so his voice stays calm, he says, "And then we weren't. It was all over. No more Atlantis, or M25 on fire. We were in England."

"Can I…?" Adam waits, and when Warlock doesn't answer, he inches forward and slides his free hand around Warlock's back. He pulls Warlock up against his chest. His raincoat shudders in the wind and hits Warlock's sides. "The Antichrist thing, it's just. Reality, it built up to this point, and it expected that, um."

"You'd grind the world beneath your heel."

Adam touches his forehead to Warlock's. "But that was never me."

"Same," Warlock blurts.

He regrets it instantly, snaps his jaw together to try to keep it from getting out, but it doesn't work. Adam blinks again, confused. He leans back to get a better look at Warlock, who has started to laugh. And once he starts laughing he can't stop.

Adam, G… somebody bless him, just lets go of his hand to brush Warlock's hair back from his face. Tucks it behind his ear. Waits.

Fuck. Warlock squeezes his eyes shut, gulps down his next laugh. "I've told you how I don't like magic," he says. He has to say it through clenched teeth.

"Yeah."

"Nanny Ashtoreth said it was dangerous and only fools used it unless they absolutely had to, that you could get most things you wanted just by talking," he said. He'd always kind of assumed that was why his mother had hired her in the first place. Not the magic thing, but the talking thing. "And she acted like _I'd…_ be able to. But then she left, and the world exploded, and then it hadn't at all, I guess that was you-"

Adam winces again.

"-and I never could do magic." He holds still as Adam's hand settles on the back of his neck. Adam finishes curling his arm around Warlock's waist, and Warlock lets himself be held. "You've been like this the whole time," he starts.

"Warlock."

"You knew, and I told you about Nanny, and the lullabies, and you didn't say anything-"

"I did," Adam protests. "I said the lullabies were weird, Warlock, we had a whole fight about it. You can't not remember."

"Did you know that the Order of St. Beryl was probably a bunch of Satanic nuns?" Warlock asks, ignoring him. Adam jerks slightly, his hand falling from Warlock's neck. "That's where I was born, they ran the hospital. And then Nanny showed up, and my mother hired her even though she was so weird, and didn't have any diplomatic references, and Nanny told me I'd rule the world when it was destroyed. All the time, Adam!"

It's hard to be raised by Nanny Ashtoreth and not eventually figure it out. The lullabies, the rote memorization of demonic summoning rituals (never practiced, never ever practiced, Nanny had been _furious_ the one time he'd actually tried, Warlock's never been so scared in his life, not even now), the encouragement to think of the world as a plaything to mold. Only an idiot wouldn't realize that Nanny, at least, had thought that he'd been … something.

And then there'd been that man in the desert.

And then it'd all been over.

"She thought I was, I don't know. You? And you know that I, that I have a thing about magic," he says. "About demons."

"I'm not a demon, I'm human," Adam snaps. His face flushes. "Sorry."

"I'm not saying you are, it's just, _Antichrist_, I-" Another laugh rocks through him and he groans, tipping his head back so it hits the tree. "I don't know, I'm just freaking out. And I'm freezing. You can't do anything about the wind?"

Adam stares at him.

Warlock opens his mouth, and Adam cracks, and starts laughing.

He tangles his hand in Warlock's hair and then Warlock is being kissed. It's hard to be freezing when Adam's mouth is on his. It's hard to be freezing when Adam stops kissing him, too, because he touches their foreheads together again.

"We need to go see somebody," he says. He sighs. "Two somebodys."

***

"This is my boyfriend," Adam announces to the man who comes barrelling out from between the bookshelves.

Warlock is still panicking about having _broken into a bookshop,_ so he doesn't have a moment to be surprised that Adam doesn't say hello or anything.

The man comes to a halt. He blinks, looks over at Warlock. "Ah. Pleased to meet you," he says, actually sounding it before his voice completely changes as he turns back to Adam and continues, not scolding but near it, "Adam, my dear, not that it isn't nice to see you, but you really ought to have called ahead. How did you get in? I could have sworn I locked the door."

"I asked the door to be open," Adam says.

Which was true. He'd said it didn't count as breaking in if the place let you through the front door itself. Warlock sees the look on the man's - the owner's? - face and wants to argue, again, that Adam's logic is deeply flawed.

The man lets out a small breath. "Of course. I suppose it must be an emergency, or you wouldn't have come here in this storm." He frowns, clearly noticing that neither of them are at all wet.

"Oi, angel. Since when do you need help running people out of your shop?" Someone else comes out from the back.

Warlock opens his mouth but nothing comes out.

Nanny Ashtoreth had once told him she had no family, no siblings. But she also said that dinosaurs weren't real and that Warlock would one day bring about the end of the world, so Nanny Ashtoreth has since been established as a liar.

This person has the exact same color hair. This person is also wearing clothes that Warlock would basically describe as, 'If you told Nanny she had to wear jeans.' They might actually be women's jeans, Warlock would know. They're skinny and they look great when you've got stick legs but the pockets are for shit and the guy's cell phone is sticking almost all the way out of his hip pocket.

"Hi, Crowley," Adam says. There is a slight edge to his voice that make Crowley's eyebrows jump up above his sunglasses. Which he is wearing indoors. For some reason. Maybe weak eyes run in the Ashtoreth family? "This is my boyfriend. Warlock Dowling."

"Ah. Er. Uh." Crowley looks at Warlock and then back at Adam and then back at Warlock. "Yeah?"

"Adam," the other man says. His hands come up and he puts them back down again, flustered. "You really should have called ahead."

"Did you know we were born at the same hospital?" Adam asks, conversationally.

He tugs on Warlock's hand and pulls him across the shop until they're arm's length from Crowley and the owner. He apparently doesn't notice that Warlock is trying to dig his heels into the floor.

"Is that so?" The owner is smiling one of the most nervous smiles Warlock has ever seen on a person. "You know, I haven't been in a hospital in years, that was really Crowley's-"

"Oh, thanksss!"

"Or the nuns' position, as I understand it, dealing with… babies. That sort of thing," the owner hastily corrects.

It does not make Crowley look less annoyed.

"Also, _somebody_ spent half his childhood telling him he'd, you know." Adam grins. It is not a nice grin. "End the world."

The owner looks sideways at Crowley, whose mouth pops open wordlessly. He makes several sounds of protest and slides his hands into his pockets (or his fingertips, anyway, the pockets really are that shallow, especially the one with the phone in it), the same way, Warlock realizes with a jolt, that he tends to when he's upset.

Crowley says, "It was my job, Aziraphale."

"Just so," Aziraphale replies, quietly, glancing back at them.

And it clicks.

"I really want to go right now," Warlock hisses in Adam's ear.

He has had bad dreams about running into Nanny Ashtoreth and being a magical dud of a disappointment, but he has had nightmares about running into Brother Francis and failing to be even half as nice a person as the gardener had ever hoped Warlock would be.

Except, wait. _"Your_ job?" he asks. Does not ask, 'Not your sister's?'

Crowley grimaces. He reaches up and tugs his sunglasses just far down enough so yellow eyes shimmer at Warlock. Nanny Ashtoreth had looked at him like that when she'd caught him drawing that summoning circle in his room. And Warlock had thought it was yet another made-up memory, something that couldn't be trusted, like Atlantis, or being in England while the M25 had been on fire.

When Warlock is sure he couldn't look any more shocked, Crowley says, "Hey, kid," and shoves his glasses back up.

"Hi?" Warlock just manages to turn his head to Adam, who still looks pissed off. "What the fuck is happening?" he whispers.

"Perhaps you should sit down," Aziraphale says, not unkindly.

***

Aziraphale gives him a large glass of wine, which Warlock spends the next fifteen minutes or so clutching for dear life and refusing to drink. It is confusing that Brother Francis is not named Francis and doesn't actually look like that, Warlock doesn't need to add alcohol to the mix.

Today's to-do list: Take out the recycling (done), laundry (not done), meet Adam (done), have a panic attack in a public park (done), learn that your childhood nanny and gardener were not having an affair (Warlock is still skeptical on this) but were actually attempting to influence you in equal amounts so you would not bring about Armageddon when you turned eleven (done).

All because there'd been one extra baby at the hospital.

"We really do apologize. The both of us," Aziraphale says, firmly, not even looking in Crowley's direction. "We didn't think you'd, well. That you'd remember."

"Don't look at me!" Adam says, because Aziraphale has indeed looked at him. "Nobody said anything about wiping somebody's entire childhood memory, why would I have done that?"

Adam was also given a glass of wine and has already drunk half of it. Adam acts like this is not the first time he's been given wine in the bookshop, which Warlock is having trouble wrapping his head around. Not that he personally has the money to spend on this kind of thing even with what his parents already pay for, but he can tell by looking at the bottle on the table that this is very expensive wine. Yet another reason not to drink.

"Of course we didn't expect that," Aziraphale says, like somebody who absolutely had expected that.

"We thought you went back to America," Crowley puts in.

When they'd come to the back of the shop Adam had pushed Warlock down onto a couch so he could sit with his arm around Warlock's waist. Aziraphale had settled comfortably into an armchair. Crowley had fallen sideways into another chair so his legs are dangling over the side of it. Warlock is trying not to look at him.

"Kid," Crowley says, because Warlock is still staring silently into his wine, "if it's the whole, ah, not being in a dress thing, look, that's all fashion-"

Warlock makes a face. "It's weird to see you _relaxed,"_ he says. It trips Crowley up short, and his mouth snaps shut. "Also, you sound weird. Sorry."

"Sound weird?" Crowley demands.

"You did use that lovely accent as Ashtoreth, Crowley," Aziraphale murmurs, sipping his wine.

Crowley turns his head to stare. "Lovely?"

Next to Warlock, Adam rolls his eyes. "They're always like this."

"You never said anything about the accent before."

"Well, it's not as if we consulted beforehand."

"Yeah, or you wouldn't have worn that terrible-"

"Can you guys stay focused?" Adam asks.

And Warlock says, "So the Dowlings aren't actually my parents."

Adam's arm tightens around his waist. The angel and the demon stop talking and trade some sort of silent look that Warlock can't interpret. He stares at his glass for another second. Adam presses a kiss to the side of his face and Warlock finally takes a long gulp of wine. He half expects to be told he's not appreciating it properly because he doesn't even taste it when it's in his mouth, but nobody says anything when he stops and puts the glass down on the table.

"I mean," Crowley says, scratching his throat. "On the bright side. This means you're not actually related to Thaddeus."

"Crowley!"

"Angel, you hated him just as much as me," Crowley mutters.

"He thought you were scary," Warlock says.

Crowley grins from ear to ear. Aziraphale shakes his head.

"What happened to their actual kid?"

"You are their kid," Adam murmurs, pulling him closer. "Hey. This doesn't mean you're not-"

"Oh I'm sure the nuns took care of him," Aziraphale says.

Warlock asks, "...The Satanic nuns?"

"They really did think you were all adorable children," Aziraphale protests, while Crowley is busy looking mildly embarrassed. "We met one of them, later, you see. I sincerely doubt anything untoward would have been done with, uh."

"The kid who's supposed to have my life?"

Adam looks miserable. "Warlock."

"Okay." Crowley swings his legs over and plants both feet on the floor. "How is that worse than, you know," he gestures at Aziraphale and then himself, "actual angel, the Serpent of Eden?"

Aziraphale raises an eyebrow at this description.

"Yes, because you always enjoy when I go on about your titles. Do you want to start with the ex-cherubim-"

"No, no."

"Angel, demon, doesn't really affect me," Warlock mutters. The looks he gets for this are something else. He wishes he hadn't put the wine down because Adam is holding him too tight to lean forward and pick it back up. "It's not like I go around doing magic or anything."

"You had better not be," Crowley cuts in. Everyone ignores him.

"What am I going to do if my parents-" Warlock stops, inhales. "What if they decide to, I don't know, 23andMe us for Christmas-"

"First of all, your dad thinks genetic testing is a conspiracy," Adam says. Warlock glares at him because he's right, which is not helping. "Second of all, they are your parents. They're not _not_ your parents just because of this."

Warlock shoots a look across the table.

"Well, we're like your… godparents," Aziraphale says. He smiles and looks genuinely pleased to say it. "It seems like you've turned out well, dear boy, I don't think it could have been all that bad."

The sudden blow of satisfaction Warlock feels at that should probably not be startling, but it is.

"There is no way we fucked you up worse than Thaddeus and Harriet," Crowley puts in. It's a little more bitter but no less satisfying.

"You did tell me dinosaurs are fake," Warlock says, though. He has to say something.

Adam lifts his head. "Wait, it's your fault he thinks dinosuars are dumb?"

Crowley scowls. "They _are."_

"I'm afraid they were supposed to be a joke," Aziraphale adds. At the betrayed expression on Adam's face, he takes a sip of wine. "I wasn't in that department, don't ask me to explain it."

***

When Warlock wakes up the next morning, Adam is plastered up against his back. He has both arms wrapped around Warlock's stomach and at some point in the night had pushed Warlock's shirt up, so his arms are against Warlock's bare skin. One of his legs is wedged between Warlock's and he's breathing, slow and even, against the back of Warlock's neck.

For about three minutes Warlock lays there and listens to rain hit his windows. Adam breathing. Then he wriggles until Adam wakes up and lets go of him.

"What do you do when there's nobody in bed to octopus yourself around?" Warlock demands, pulling his shirt back down.

"Giant pillows." Adam yawns. "I don't think octopus is a verb."

"That's what an octopus would say."

By the time Warlock is out of the bathroom, Adam is sitting up. He even looks mostly awake when he latches onto Warlock's hips. He bends forward to nuzzle Warlock's stomach and Warlock briefly sets a hand on his head.

"Are you still freaked out?" Adam asks. It's muffled by Warlock's shirt.

"No," Warlock says, flat. "I definitely thought my nanny was a demon the entire time."

Adam squints up at him. "I can't tell if you're joking."

"I did not think Nanny Ashtoreth was a demon, Adam."

"Mmm." Adam kisses his stomach, through his shirt. "Not me, either?"

"I mean, only one of us turned out to actually be raised by a demon." Warlock had taken forever to fall asleep last night, and that'd been one of the thing turning over in his head while the storm kept on going outside.

Adam lets him go to fall back against the bed, propping himself up with his elbows. "And an angel."

Warlock stares at him for a second, then puts his face in his hands.

Adam, the jerk, starts to laugh.

"They're just so weird," Warlock says into his hands before dropping them. "Am I that weird?"

"Yep."

"Thanks!"

"You sing demonic lullabies under your breath and named your plants, which you are serially murdering, after saints," Adam says. "Also, you think dinosaurs are fake."

Warlock glowers. "It's not murder, I'm doing everything the care instructions say to do, it's not my fault the plants keep dying. Also, I'm right about the dinosaurs."

"Ugh."

"Anyway, I'm not more weird than you."

"Hey! I was a totally normal storybook kid," Adam says. He pauses. "Aside from that one thing."

"Yes. You are so normal you think there are only three flavors of ice cream."

"There should only be three flavors of ice cream, you don't need more, that's what toppings are for," Adam argues, immediately, shaking his head when Warlock just spreads his hands in a 'see what I mean?' gesture.

Adam hops up onto his feet. He kisses the corner of Warlock's mouth and also squeezes his butt before darting out into the rest of the flat, which is just one small room with a tiny strip of a kitchen and a little seating area. His parents were willing to pay for a place in London but they were only willing to pay so much.

After a couple of minutes it's clear Adam actually is up for the day. Which means that Warlock has to face it, too.

Not that he would admit this, but he's glad he's not alone in his flat. He is still freaking out. A little.

Warlock walks out of the bedroom. He looks over at the black couch he's squeezed into the corner of the room, which is sleek and leather and not comfortable. But the pull of it in the furniture shop had been a near physical thing. When Adam had first sat on it he'd actually cringed. Adam is not sitting on it, though. Adam is at the kitchen counter.

Now Adam has his back to Warlock and is … whisking something in a mixing bowl. Which Warlock only owns because his mom ad packed up his kitchen for him. It never would've been something his dad thought he'd need.

"What are you making?"

"Pancakes." Adam turns around and Warlock can also see a bag of chocolate chips on the countertop, next to the tin of flour. "I said I was thinking about breakfast."

It takes a while but Warlock does finally remember the conversation they'd been having in St. James Park before everything had gone sideways.

"Dessert," Warlock says. He walks over to the kitchen counter and pours some of the chocolate chips into his palm. Adam rolls his eyes, but when Warlock reaches his hand up, he obligingly opens his mouth so Warlock can give him a piece of chocolate.

"Chocolate chip pancakes aren't dessert," Adam says.

Warlock hesitates, then leans up a little to kiss Adam. Adam stops mixing the pancake batter and opens his mouth. He makes a soft noise when Warlock dips his tongue into Adam's mouth. And then they're a little distracted, and Warlock forgets and leans forward and ends up with pancake batter on his sleeve and Adam laughing at him.

He pulls the shirt off - he will actually have to do laundry today - and rolls his eyes when Adam whistles. "Please."

"Wanna fool around?"

"Not when you say things like _fool around,"_ Warlock sputters.

Ten minutes later, though, the mixing bowl is on the counter and the stove hasn't even been turned on.


End file.
